New Contest... "true" survival tales...

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Kenix said:
Haha damn, I think I may just be young enough to have contributed to your near demise. :p Don't those kiosks usually have 2 or 3 people? Someone to watch your back at least.
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Not in my day. Only a manager or assistant manager was allowed / forced to run the kiosk and that man stood alone. Everyone else was in the retail store.
 
I posted this story a few months ago but it applies here. I was new to Idaho and mountains in general and had an opportunity to go on an all-expenses paid trip to the Seven Devils, a series of 9,000 foot mountains topped by seven tall sheer cliffs. I had no clue what they were, what they looked like or what the conditions were until I got up there and I realized I may have been a little out of my league. It was 9,000 feet of scrambling and bouldering through billygoat trails over ledges and saddles in near-vertical faces. I bought a USGS topo map of the area, had my GPS and my SPOT on me. At the trailhead I planned my route, hike over She-Devil into a basin and camp at a high-altitude mountain lake there. She-Devil was amazing, a very involved and athletic hike through terrain I had never seen before. Rocks, animals and vegitation that was completely new to me. It was like I was on some other planet. After making it to my basecamp safely, I spent a relaxing night watching the sunset 1500 feet deep in a cliff-wall surrounded bowl, bathing in a lake that likely has never been touched by man before, eating soup and watching the sunset. I was up at 5:30 the next morning and decided to climb He-Devil, the most difficult of the cliffs, which has a ledger at the top with the names of all the people who have climbed it. My name was going in that ledger. The sun hadn't quite come up yet when I started climbing and the trails were poorly marked. The climb was very intense, damn-near vertical boulder fields and rock walls with no markings for the trail. It didn't help that I was at 9500 feet and have never lived at altitude before. I had plenty of gear, plenty of experience and plenty of youth on my side though, and slowly but surely picked my way up the face. About halfway up, I faced a Y in the trail. The route continued up at a grade that looked impassable to me, I didn't think it could have been the trail. To my right was a ledge, about 3 feet wide, overlooking a thousand foot drop. I took the ledge, which turned about 150 yards away and I couldn't see where it ran. Soon I found myself sidestepping, as the ledge narrowed from three feet to mere inches overlooking a drop. I let panic set in for a few seconds and decided to stop and calm down. I took my pack off and pulled out my pipe and my Spot. If you've never smoked at altitude before, I recommend not trying. It gave me an instant headache, but clamed my nerves down enough to think clearly. I knew where I was, I just didn't know where the TRAIL was. I had my SPOT in hand, but told myself if I could get myself into that situation I could get myself out. On shaky legs, I backtracked across the ledge to get back to the trail. A few hours later I put my name in the ledger on top of He-Devil. After thinking it over the experience came down to a few points. 1, if you're not hiking marked trails, be sure you know where the hell you're going. 2, it's alot easier to keep a cool head than calm down once you start panicking. 3, if I didn't calm myself down, I probably would have wound up dead-self control, and perserverance is a lifesaver in a survival situation. There was a very long and loud sigh of relief when I made it back down (wore a hole in the ass of my canvas pants from sliding down on the way back), but figured the whole ordeal was worth the pictures, adventure and experience.

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So where were we...ah yes. On top of the mountain just as soon as it started raining and the wind kicked up. I should also mention that this wasn't the top of Sargent Mountain as we had originally intended, but rather the lower peak of an adjacent one, which we had headed to in order to more rapidly descend. So things were really quite miserable now. We were tired, cold, and wet, and just wanted to get home. After trying to look at the map (which was next to impossible given the wind--and there was nowhere to get out of the wind. We settled on a direction to head back down the mountain--hurriedly--and started going. Lauren was getting really tired at this point so I had to support her as we went down the steep rock outcroppings.

The trail ended up bringing us down some steep sections of DEEP snow and our feet kept punching down through it in spots due to the thaw (oh yeah--it had been doing that this WHOLE TIME). We ended up being faced with another brook that we had to keep crossing, and there were hidden roots in the snow that tripped us up. Lauren was starting to get really distressed at this point (as was I, though I was keeping myself calm and contained as to try to set an example of self-assurance). We ended up reaching a point where getting our feet wet was impossible, and our legs were beginning to feel leaden with fatigue, but there was surely no way we could stop if we wanted to make it back safely! After making it down the brook we came.....

....BACK TO THE DANGEROUS SILTY BEND THAT WE HAD ALREADY BRAVED EARLIER!!!! :eek:
 
The trail had connected back to the same trail we had been on on the way up! Fortunately thanks to our previous experience and new vantage point we were able to safely (if inelegantly) scale the crumbling edifice--"once more into the breach!" The opposite side (which had been so terrifying to climb previously) now worked to the advantage of our weary limbs--we slid down it on our back-sides! (Getting my pack covered in mud in the process, but it cleaned off just fine) The rain was coming down pretty decently now, but we were already damp from our previous exploits and hardly noticed it. The good news was that we knew where we were again, and I knew how to get us home without much trouble!

Stumbling back along the trail, we made it back to where the bridge passed over the brook--and climbed up the sloping embankment of the brook and up onto the bridge! We then followed the carriage trail (which was one I knew well) back to the Parkman Mountain parking lot (which was right near where we had parked to start). I opened up one of the two space blankets I had in my pack (thanks RescueRiley!!!) and had Lauren wrap up in it to keep the wind (which was now quite strong) from getting to her--it was howling at this point and cutting us to the bone.

Once we made it to a spot that was out of the wind and near the parking lot we paused for a few humbling pictures.
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Yeah. Not pretty. :o

Once we made it to the parking lot, we still needed to head down a hill (open road) to get to the spot where our car was parked. The wind was the kind that you have to lean into, and with how damp we were and how cold it had become it was agonizing! We ran with what energy we had left, and I literally had to use both hands to turn the key in the lock of my car. Needless to say we cranked the heat. THANK GOD WE MADE IT OUT SAFE. We did a LOT of stupid things and needless to say I learned a lot of important lessons that day! :foot:

After reporting back to my folks that we WERE INDEED OK (the Island is a cell-phone vortex so even though I had my phone we had no reception--we did try calling several times) we booked it to the nearest Burger King. It's the only time we've ever managed to devour an entire fast food meal and NOT feel sluggish or greasy afterward! We then returned to the house where we got warm and toasty and lazed away the rest of the day--like hell we were going to do anything else!

FIN :eek:
 
42Blades: What, no overnight sheltering atop the peak? :D

Epic story and well told! The cozy restoftheday sounds almost as good as the first bit.
 
42Blades: I have got to start taking my camera with me. Your story was great with pictures.

Oh, and you guys looked like shit by the end of the day :D
 
This is an account of my first near death experience on October 16, 2004:

It was a beautiful fall day and the opening day of pheasant hunting season here in southern Idaho. My twelve year-old son and I had been working at training our Brittney Spaniel pup (Max) since he became a family member almost a year before. He was learning to flush and retrieve birds and was doing a good job at it.

Since the season always starts at noon on the opening day, the anticipation on that special Saturday morning was almost electric. Alex and I would be hunting out of our old 88 Bronco II which was our very reliable family hunting rig. Two of my older boys and I had spent many happy hours scouting the hills and valleys of our home range, bush-whacking and/or hunting for all sorts of game from deer and coyotes - to ducks, geese, pheasants and sage grouse.

Over the years, we had found the ideal spot to begin our annual pheasant hunt. It was way out in the country that few other people seemed to know about it. It was the land on either side of a stretch of railroad tracks which hardly ever saw any use. It is thick with cover plants that the birds love to snuggle up in when it’s cold and provides them with not only cover, but food is also right next door as a large grain field borders the north side of this ideal 2 mile stretch of rail road tracks. And, there is also a good natural water source on the property in the form of a small creek that trickles next to the tracks.

Our strategy was to divide the hunt into two halves. We would hunt down one side of the tracks till we reached the half way point, then cross over the tracks and hunt back to the Bronco. Then we would drive to the other end of the of the tracks and do the same thing,

On this particular day, we started the hunt on the east side of the property hunting the north side of the tracks to the half way point. Then we crossed over the tracks and hunted the south side of the tracks till we reached the willow stand. I walked up on the tracks while Alex and the dog made their way through the willows. And, as luck would have it they flushed three nice birds. Two cocks and one hen. Alex was close to one rooster and another one flew up toward me on the tracks then veered and headed straight away east. After a pheasant is flushed, I like to wait till they are in the air and they cluck and poop before I shoot. Doing this just makes a more clean kill.

Alex missed his bird and I clobbered mine. It was a nice young rooster and I figured he’d make us a nice Sunday dinner the next day. So, after the dog brought him to me, we continued hunting till we were back at the vehicle. We gave Max a long. cool drink of water and loaded him in the back of the SUV. Then we rested a little, looked at the bird and talked about the hunt so far.

After resting ourselves for a little while, we drove around to the west side of the tracks and got out anxious to continue the hunt. This time we hunted the south side of the property and planned to hunt the north side on the way back.

We were almost to the middle of the north side and had been hiking through some dry washes and old ditches when all of a sudden I started feeling winded. So, I took a short break then started hunting again. After walking a few yards, I started gasping for air and just couldn’t get my breath. I waved to my son to come over. When he got to me he could see I was gasping for air, I told him that I wasn’t feeling very well.

Alex had just turned twelve and was a small boy in stature. He is my youngest son, of twelve kids, and I love him for his thoughtfulness and goodness. I was 56 years old at that time; and, at six feet and 330 lbs. I knew that if I couldn’t function, my small son couldn’t carry me out to our Bronco. I began to feel panic-stricken!

As I was gasping for air, I started feeling light headed and soon my eyesight became blurry. I dropped to my knees and was so busy trying to get air that I didn’t have time to panic. I had a hold on my shotgun (I hadn’t chambered a cartridge yet.); and so, I used it to hoist myself up. Then I started to slowly use it as a crutch to walk a few steps at a time. My son was also scared and kept asking me if I was all right. I kept telling him I thought so, just to comfort him. I knew I wasn’t all right; but, it hadn’t yet occurred to me that I was suffering a major heart attack.

I kept slowly making my way back to the Bronco and finally got there. I collapsed in the driver seat and immediately rolled down the window to get some air. Here in Idaho we get a constant breeze from the southwest; and, since I had parked with the nose of the vehicle pointing north when I rolled down that window the cool breeze felt like a most welcome friend to me at that moment.

I took a small drink of cool water and asked my young son to load the dog. He got a hold of Max’s collar and took him to the back of the Bronco. He tried to open the back tailgate but couldn’t get the latch to work. So, I climbed out my door and made my way to the back of the vehicle. I unlatched the tailgate and lifted Max up into the back of the Bronco and closed tailgate.

After getting back into the cab, I rested till I felt like I could drive. I had Alex find my cell phone and told him to call his mother and let her know what was happening. By this time, my chest started to feel like an elephant was stepping in the middle of it. It was then that I realized I was having a heart attack

Alex got my wife on the phone and I told her I was having a heart attack. I told her I was going to drive home (about 15 miles). I also told her that if I didn’t head for home by the time the ambulance found us, I’d probably be dead.

Then I told Alex to stay on the phone and I started driving. I told him that if I passed out to just turn the key off and step on the brake. I drove home fast but slowly. There was not much traffic on the road on the way home.

When we arrived home, I had my wife, two daughters and Alex unload the bird, dog and guns. (I had unloaded the shotguns when we got back to the truck out in the field.) I asked them to field dress the bird, so we could have it for dinner the next day. (I usually do that myself.)

When my wife opened my door and told me she was going to drive, I told her I couldn’t get over to the other side and to just get in and I’d drive (since the hospital was close by). I drove right up to the emergency room door of the hospital and almost crawled in. They immediately stripped me and laid me out on an examination table. Thankfully they shot medicated me with some morphine (by this time the pain was unbearable) and other life saving drugs and prepped me for transport to a larger hospital.

I remember during the helicopter flight looking down and seeing the exact spot which we had been hunting earlier that day and wondered what would happen if I died right there up in that helicopter. Would my soul float down to the ground and then I’d have to walk back to town? I guess these thoughts were a just product of the morphine. But, sometimes, I still wonder.

Within minutes I was in the Cath Lab of the hospital getting two stints placed in my heart veins. It took me several months to recoup enough to get back to work. But, two years later, during another outing to the woods with my wife, I had a second heart attack that was worse. I almost died again the second time; but, that is another story for another time.

The lesson learned was that I should have been more aware of this silent killer. I knew I was out of shape but thought I was as healthy as a horse. And, then I remembered how just a year earlier I had a similar shortness of breath on the same day in the same place. It hadn’t been as severe; and so, I had just passed it off as a fluke. Now, I am aware, have lost much of the excess weight I was carrying, and don’t put myself in situations that take me too far away from quality medical help.

I hope you can learn something from my story and above all, if you are over 40 years old, are a smoker, or overweight, please have your heart checked on a regular basis and especially before going hunting.

PS Through it all, I made sure that bird was field dressed with my RAT knife so the family could enjoyed eating it the next day!
 
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PayetteRucker said:
I posted this story a few months ago but it applies here. I was new to Idaho and mountains in general and had an opportunity to go on an all-expenses paid trip to the Seven Devils, a series of 9,000 foot mountains topped by seven tall sheer cliffs. I had no clue what they were, what they looked like or what the conditions were until I got up there and I realized I may have been a little out of my league. It was 9,000 feet of scrambling and bouldering through billygoat trails over ledges and saddles in near-vertical faces. I bought a USGS topo map of the area, had my GPS and my SPOT on me. At the trailhead I planned my route, hike over She-Devil into a basin and camp at a high-altitude mountain lake there. She-Devil was amazing, a very involved and athletic hike through terrain I had never seen before. Rocks, animals and vegitation that was completely new to me. It was like I was on some other planet. After making it to my basecamp safely, I spent a relaxing night watching the sunset 1500 feet deep in a cliff-wall surrounded bowl, bathing in a lake that likely has never been touched by man before, eating soup and watching the sunset. I was up at 5:30 the next morning and decided to climb He-Devil, the most difficult of the cliffs, which has a ledger at the top with the names of all the people who have climbed it. My name was going in that ledger. The sun hadn't quite come up yet when I started climbing and the trails were poorly marked. The climb was very intense, damn-near vertical boulder fields and rock walls with no markings for the trail. It didn't help that I was at 9500 feet and have never lived at altitude before. I had plenty of gear, plenty of experience and plenty of youth on my side though, and slowly but surely picked my way up the face. About halfway up, I faced a Y in the trail. The route continued up at a grade that looked impassable to me, I didn't think it could have been the trail. To my right was a ledge, about 3 feet wide, overlooking a thousand foot drop. I took the ledge, which turned about 150 yards away and I couldn't see where it ran. Soon I found myself sidestepping, as the ledge narrowed from three feet to mere inches overlooking a drop. I let panic set in for a few seconds and decided to stop and calm down. I took my pack off and pulled out my pipe and my Spot. If you've never smoked at altitude before, I recommend not trying. It gave me an instant headache, but clamed my nerves down enough to think clearly. I knew where I was, I just didn't know where the TRAIL was. I had my SPOT in hand, but told myself if I could get myself into that situation I could get myself out. On shaky legs, I backtracked across the ledge to get back to the trail. A few hours later I put my name in the ledger on top of He-Devil. After thinking it over the experience came down to a few points. 1, if you're not hiking marked trails, be sure you know where the hell you're going. 2, it's alot easier to keep a cool head than calm down once you start panicking. 3, if I didn't calm myself down, I probably would have wound up dead-self control, and perserverance is a lifesaver in a survival situation. There was a very long and loud sigh of relief when I made it back down (wore a hole in the ass of my canvas pants from sliding down on the way back), but figured the whole ordeal was worth the pictures, adventure and experience.
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(Quoted, so I don't have to scroll sideways due to extra - large pics.)
 
Okay, here's my story. It happened probably forty years ago. At that time, I did some wreck diving in the Great Lakes. One Saturday afternoon, my buddy and I, along with maybe ten other guys, chartered a dive boat out of Kenosha Wisconsin. We we going to dive a wreck called the SS Wisconsin. This steamship sank on October 29, 1929 in a storm on Lake Michigan. During the fall, the Great Lakes can brew up some terrible storms very quickly. The year 1929 was a very bad year for Great Lakes shipping. Many of the wrecks I dove in Lake Michigan and Lake Superior sank in 1929.

The Wisconsin rested in about 125 feet of water at the deck. Deeper if you proceeded to where the propellers rest. My buddy and I planned a no-decompression dive to 125 feet. That gave us about 20 minutes of bottom time. If we didn't exceed that no decompression time limit, we could proceed to the surface without making decompression stops.

Our dive was simple and well planned but, as so often happens, the best laid plans of mice and men ... At the 17 minute mark of our dive, I signaled to my buddy that it was time to swim to an ascent line that was hooked into the wreck with a grappling hook. The other end of the line was connected to the dive boat. By following the ascent line to the surface, we could just swim up the line and surface at the dive boat, without worrying about the current sweeping us some distance from the dive boat and requiring us to make a long swim on the surface back to the boat.

Anyway, when I signaled my buddy, he nodded and turned to follow a deck rail back to the ascent line. When I tried to follow, I found my feet and lower legs has become entangled in nearly invisible mono filament fishing line. Fisherman liked to fish near wrecks because that's where the fish are. As soon as I realized I was entangled, I started banging my aluminum dive light against my tank and flashing the light at my buddy. (It's as dark as pitch at 120 feet in Lake Michigan on most days.) He returned to me and together we cut the fishing line and returned to the surface after a short decompression stop, necessitated by the extra time spent getting me untangled. This entanglement occurred in 120 feet of water.

Here's the eerie thing. One of the guys I worked with at the time, lived in Kenosha, Wisconsin. When I went to work on Monday, the guy brought a copy of Kenosha's newspaper for me to see. It contained a story about a young man who was killed while diving the Wisconsin the day following my experience, Sunday. He'd become entangled in mono filament line in 120 feet of water. Based on his limited experience, this poor kid really shouldn't have been there. He had logged few dives and carried no knife. (I carried two, one strapped to my right calf and a small knife carried inverted on my harness near my left shoulder. I took the precaution of carrying two knives because it was conceivable, in my mind anyway, I might be unable to reach the knife on my calf.) To add to this kid's problems, his buddy left him and surfaced to get help, after taking an unnecessary decompression stop. By the time other divers reached this entangled kid, with an extra tank of air, he was dead.
 
not eligible to post, for some reason i thought it was over already, my fault.
 
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You want a real survival story. No BS.. I have been married to the same woman for 28 years.:cool::thumbup:
 
cgebhard said:
You want a real survival story. No BS.. I have been married to the same woman for 28 years.:cool::thumbup:
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That is a true survival story! Working on 20 years next month myself, and I am still amazed that she has tolerated me this long... :)

Right stuff guys, keeping them coming! This is going to be one hard contest to judge (which is why I passed that "honor" onto Mrs Shotty and LK :D )
 
There is 20 years i' stays in Sardinia for the holidays with 2 friends. We are ine the month of August and we have rucksacks to make the turn of the island. Quickly will reconsider all our money to us. My 2 friends calls their parents who them sendings of money to return on their premises. But at mine there has no people. i accompany my friends the madelena for they take the boats for Corsican. As for me I remain on the spot with in all and for all 20 liras Italian. a fishing man deposits me on the island of the madelena, and with the sandstone of my ballades in cliffs I find a cave not very easy to access for me it's ideal, I can leave my rucksack and my businesses thus there. I decide kept my money to be able to telephone in France and to ask for money has my parents. is that my first experiment of survival starts, I m' install in my cave my days happen has to fish octopuses with the hand, to collect sea urchins female to eat eggs, and to collect scallop on the rocks, to collect glazing bar for fires and me stakes the hands by gathering prickly pears, fortunately on this any small island there was a small village with a fountain to drinking water. Two days after i could contact my parents, it m' have to send money which spent a week almost has to come. i went in boat stop the every day to the post office of St theresa di gallura to see whether my mandate were to arrive. i lived during almost 10 days. For me it was not survival it wa s verry cool holidays. Once to return at home i lost 13 kilos this history is not a fiction but my true first experiment in involuntary survival
jean baptiste

ps sorry for my english
 
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